


Night Visions

by Quiet_crash



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, a bit of blood i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 02:05:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8126242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_crash/pseuds/Quiet_crash
Summary: Achilles is granted a prophetic dream the night before Zeus takes side in the war.





	

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Okay so I'm sorry for the title I'm just rly bad at titles so I borrowed this one from Imagine Dragons *hides*  
> 2) I know that Achilles' vision was more a "daydream" than a real dream but bear with me. For the purpose of this fic Achilles is granted a prophetic dream, thanks.  
> 3) The underlined part is what I took word for word from the book, this is the disclaimer.  
> 4) I hope you enjoy :)

I am woken by a terrible scream that has all the blood in my veins freezing to ice. It rings with despair and grief, the kind that makes everyone stop and bow their heads in acknowledgement of this kind of unimaginable pain. It rips me from my peaceful dreams and I sit up, my heart beating wildly, looking around in search of the source of the sound.

 

Achilles is laying beside me still, but not relaxed and innocent as he usually is in his sleep. His body is rigid and slick with sweat, muscles trembling and fingers clenched into fists so tight his knuckles are white.

 

In all of our time together I have never seen him like this. Not even here, on the shores of Troy.

 

It breaks me to see him suffering so.

 

I call him but sleep grips him tight. His beautiful face is screwed in pain, a small sound is ripped from his chest. I reach for him then, run my hands over his clammy skin soothingly. At last he wakes with my name on his trembling lips. “Patroclus.”

 

“I am here, Achilles” I assure him quickly. “What's wrong?”

 

His eyes land on me and fill with relief as he looks me over, as if searching for something that might threaten my life.

 

Finding no such thing on my body he pulls me into his arms. I can feel his heartbeat thundering in his chest and his breathing gradually slows against my neck where he hid his face from view.

 

He is so vulnerable in this moment, so undone by whatever dream he dreamt. I cannot help but hold him close and murmur words of comfort into the matted gold of his hair.

 

A long time passes before he calms and though he sits back his hands never leave my skin. He traces my stomach with them.

 

“Achilles?” I say quietly.

 

“Do you remember,” his eyes, dark now, come up to meet mine, “when I told you about the dream in which I kill Hector?” he asks.

 

Of course I remember. How could I ever forget? I say so and his hands find mine, squeezing.

 

“I had another one” he explains.

 

“About your death?” My fingers clench in his at the mere thought. I've had so much time to prepare for it and yet it terrifies me still. But he shakes his head no.

 

“About what then?” I ask and he tells me, as he always tells me everything.

 

“About the prophecy my mother brought us.”

 

 _The best of the Myrmidons will die before two more years have passed_ she had said. We wondered who it may speak of but with no real certainty.

 

“Do you know who he is then?” I asked. Achilles' pale lips bend into a wan smile, his breath escaping his chest in what would be a chuckle was he not so distressed still.

 

“Patroclus” he says fondly. “Patroclus.”

 

“What? Who is he?”

 

“I will forever be ashamed to not have suspected from the very beginning” he says.

 

“ _Achilles_ ” I urge him.

 

“It is you, of course” he says simply, as he is wont to do.

 

It sounds as improbable as when Briseis said it and I shake my head.

 

“Patroclus” he scolds.

 

“I understand,” I say, “why Briseis might think so but you?”

 

“When did she call you that?” he asks startled.

 

“Yesterday, when I visited her.”

 

“Well, she was right” he says with utter certainty. He will not be deterred from this so I let it go in favour of learning about the dream itself although I am pretty sure it will not be pleasant.

 

“What did you see, anyway?” I ask and the light-hearted expression falls from his face.

 

“There was a battle” he starts. “I was watching it from the camp, waiting for you to come back. You were out there, without me, fighting.”  
  
It's such an improbable image… and yet, when I think about it… I don't like fighting. But, although not at Achilles' level, I am not that bad with a spear. Ten years at war have taught me that much. And if this situation, this stalemate between Achilles and Agamemnon lasts much longer… Someone has to help, even if it's only me. I cannot watch as my friends burn on their funeral pyres day after day.

 

“I was waiting for you to come back,” he continues, “tell me all about it. But the battle ended and I didn't see you anywhere among the returning troops. And then...” his voice actually broke as he said “Menelaus brought you body back. Hector killed you, after you killed Sarpedon. And I...”

 

I remember the terrible scream that woke me and gather him close as his eyes fill with tears. He trembles, clutching at me. His muffled voice is full of bitterness as he adds “What has Hector ever done to me, indeed.”

 

I feel cold inside, running my hands over the chilled skin of his back comfortingly. He saw my death. I am to be killed by Hector and that, of course, will damn Hector, for Achilles would destroy him in revenge. And then die himself.

 

“I swear,” Achilles says twisting to look into my eyes, “I swear, _philtatos_ , I will never let any harm come to you. What I saw will not come to pass, I'll make sure of it.” His voice rings with the power of his conviction, strong and confident for the first time since we woke tonight.

 

My chest tightens and I can scarcely breathe. _Most beloved_ , he called me, and promised to save me, save us both, opposing the will of gods, in one breath. It has never happened before, that a prophecy did not come true. And yet if anyone could stand up to the gods it must be him.

 

“Achilles” my voice is hardly a sound and he leans in to press a kiss to my lips, to seal his promise.

 

\---

 

We barely manage to fall back to sleep when shouts and thunder wake us again. We  hurry to the tent door to look out. Smoke, acrid and dark, is drifting up the beach towards us, carrying the smell of lightning-detonated earth. The attack has begun, and Zeus is keeping his bargain, punctuating the Trojans’ advance with celestial encouragement. We feel a pounding, deep in the ground—a charge of chariots, perhaps, led by huge Sarpedon.

 

Achilles’ hand grips mine, his face stilled. This is the first time in ten years that the Trojans have ever threatened the gate, have ever pushed so far across the plain. If they break through the wall, they will burn the ships—our only way of getting home, the only thing that makes us an army instead of refugees. This is the moment that Achilles and his mother have summoned: the Greeks, routed and desperate, without him. The sudden, incontrovertible proof of his worth. But when will it be enough?

 

When will he intervene?

 

Before I can ask him he looks to me, his grip tightening on my hand. “They have come too close” he says simply and tugs me back to our tent. There, he puts on his armour and makes me swear to stay safe, away from the walls.

 

In just a few moments the Myrmidons join the fighting and it doesn't take long before the Trojans are fought off and retreat from our damaged walls. From the physicians' tent, where I tend to the wounded, I can hear our people cheer “ _Aristos Achaion!_ ” and fierce joy and love fill my heart to bursting. I called his pride _hubris_ and thought he would let every Greek die for the sake of it. And yet there he is, leading our warriors to victory.

 

The stream of wounded slows as the Trojans are pushed back. Many soldiers praise Achilles for entering the battle. Some also praise me as they are sure it is my doing. I shake my head for I am not responsible for Achilles' decision, my only use is in this tent. It is well appreciated too. I am not sure how much more relief and happiness I can take.

 

Even after the battle has long since ended there are still many wounded so it's in the physicians' tent that Achilles finds me, stitching up someone's gut. He is still in his armour, bathed in blood. He waits for me to finish and then we go to our own tent where he strips his armour and washes his skin clean of the blood caked upon it.

 

Clean, he takes my hands into his own and leans his forehead on mine. “Agamemnon will give Briseis back” he says with satisfaction. “I was right. Only when I stopped fighting did they realize that without me they have no chances of winning this war. And now the soldiers love me even more than before!”

 

This must be a dream, I think, my head spinning. Relief floods me again and I can hardly stop myself from crushing his lips with my own. His response is equally enthusiastic.

 

That evening we sit around our hearth as we should: myself, Achilles always close by, Phoinix with a smile, Automedon with his jokes and Briseis, laughing freely.

 

And all is right in my world again.


End file.
